


Your Heart, Found at Last

by gallantrejoinder



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: (I only tagged POV characters just to make that clear.), Abuse, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Humor, Love, Mild sexism though, Multi, No Homophobia Universe, No Racism Universe, ever after au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-01-12 05:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: Dirk Gently is the name Svlad Cjelli gave himself at eight years old, when his mother died, leaving him in the care of his cruel stepfather, Lord Priest. Dirk dreams of the day he will be free of his stepfather at last.His Royal Highness, Todd Brotzman, is the crown prince of France. But to outsiders, he's just an irresponsible and reckless young man avoiding his duty. Nobody knows that Todd does everything he does to protect his younger sister - and he dreams of the day he no longer has to hold onto this burden alone.Her Royal Highness, Amanda Brotzman, is a princess of France. She's far more interested in a life of danger and excitement than sitting around in a castle all day. She's dreaming of the day she can be free.Hugo Friedkin, the adopted son of Lord Priest, doesn't know to whom he owes his loyalty. He dreams of the day he'll understand everything.These four are set to collide, and the outcome could be disastrous - or, it could be everything that they've been dreaming of all along.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teacupsandcyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupsandcyanide/gifts).



> For [hemlockwilde.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemlockwilde/pseuds/hemlockwilde/) Love you babe.
> 
> Also, the noble ranks are made up and the rules don't matter! Do not pass go if you're looking for historical accuracy.
> 
> This first chapter is a short prologue; the others will be longer.

Once upon a time, there lived a young boy named Svlad Cjelli.

Svlad’s father had died before he was born, but his mother Herta raised him well on the estate their family had lived on for generations. Svlad never wanted for anything, and adored his mother with the kind of love only very small children are capable of. Herta was a kind and wise woman, who never laughed at her son’s fancies, even as she scoffed at those in her neighbourhood who demanded she remarry. For many years, they were very happy together. Her generosity of spirit and liveliness of heart were shared with her son, who grew up as content and as bright a spirit as ever there was.

Alas, times grew hard. After much consideration, Herta bowed to the expectations of her society and the demands of her estate, and married a rich man. But, for the first time in her life, Herta’s wisdom did not guide her as it ought. She had made a grave error, for though the man she married was rich, he was also a cruel, cold man, who mistreated both herself and her son.

Lord Priest was this man’s name. He had two children of his own, sons by the name of Hugo and Ken, though neither, it appeared, were of his blood. They two alone escaped his wrath, for they had learned long ago to obey him.

Herta had never learned to obey anybody, and, unafraid of scandal and disgrace, planned to have her marriage ended, and Lord Priest removed from her estate. What Herta did not know was that Mr. Priest was far, far crueller than she ever could have imagined. For, within days of her planning, Herta was found dead, on the flagstones of her ancient home. It was said that she had jumped from the tallest tower, out of shame for the turn her life had taken.

Nobody could prove that this was not so.

Thus, Lord Priest became the owner of the ancient Cjelli estate. He raised his sons to the honours to which they were due, and never allowed them to forget that they owed him all. As for poor Svlad Cjelli, there was nothing to be done – he was, in every sense of the word, a slave to the demands of his stepfather.

Svlad’s sweet and trusting nature diminished. His happiness faded. In time, he learned to hide those parts of himself which his stepfather found distasteful, and useless. Yet Svlad never forgot his mother’s love, and it was this which strengthened his spirit, and gave him dreams to live upon.

Though his friends were few, those he did have he asked to call him Dirk Gently – a name he had come up with as a small boy, a name for a hero in a fairy tale. His servants, Estevez and Zimmerfield, called him Master Gently, far from the ears of his stepfather. Another servant, Mona, but of an age with him, called him Dirk. And of course, his best friend Bart, a local village girl, called him the same. In this way he managed never to entirely give up his hope that one day he would be more than Svlad Cjelli, the cowering slave of those who ought to have been his family.

Still, Dirk waited for the day when things would change. His gentle heart had never entirely managed to give up on his stepfather’s love, or, indeed, his stepbrothers’. Each night he prayed, and each day he hoped – hoped without evidence, hoped without expectation – that the universe would provide him with someone, somewhere, to love, and love him in return.


	2. Dirk

“Svlad!”

Dirk Gently woke to the sound of someone shouting a name that was no longer his.

“Where in God’s name is that boy?”

The voice was coming closer. Dirk froze briefly, before forcing himself to sit up. He sneezed immediately, having disturbed a large pile of cinders which had settled over him during the night.

“… Oh, _Nuts_ ,” he whispered, taking in his sooty appearance. Lord Priest hated to see him all covered in ashes and dust. _It reflects a certain lack of pride in the estate_ , Lord Priest was fond of telling him. _Remember, Svlad, you represent me_.

“Svlad, you know that breakfast is served at eight!” Lord Priest’s voice was close enough now that Dirk felt fear strike like lightning through him.

“Yes – of course –” Dirk called, scrambling to his feet. “I was just preparing it, your lordship. Three one-minute eggs each, like always! Almost always. Because I know that sometimes Master Friedkin prefers five two-minute eggs.”

Dirk could hear Lord Priest’s footsteps drawing closer. As he hurriedly swept the dust from his clothes, he kept his eyes fixed on the entrance to the kitchen, where a spiral staircase echoed the sounds of Lord Priest getting closer. With every soft footfall, Dirk felt his body grow tenser.

Finally, Lord Priest rounded the corner of the kitchen, taking the last two steps down inside deliberately slowly. Dirk stood, covered in the ashes of the fireplace, like a very tense wooden puppet. Lord Priest narrowed his eyes.

“I hope,” Lord Priest said softly, “that you have not been sleeping near the fireplace again, Svlad. You know how awful and dirty it makes you look.”

“I – of course, it’s just. I was very cold. Have you noticed, your lordship?” Dirk realised what he had suggested as soon as he said it, and scrambled to explain himself. “Well – I mean – obviously, your lordship never misses anything. But I know that your lordship is – much tougher than _me_ , of course, so perhaps your lordship doesn’t feel the cold. I think that winter’s still just hanging on by a thread, and – when it’s very cold, I get terrible sores on my hands, and I thought, well, his lordship hates it when I’m late with breakfast, because his lordship eats earlier than any man in the county, because – because – his lordship is extremely hard working, and if I kept warm by the fireplace, I’d be less likely to drop an egg. So I … slept by the fireplace.”

Lord Priest was silent for a long moment, during which Dirk felt another trickle of fear run down the back of his scalp. Lord Priest sighed. It was a long-suffering sound, and one Dirk with which intimately familiar.

“What I have I told you, Svlad, about thinking?”

“That I ought not to do it,” Dirk replied, quietly.

“And why?”

“Because my thoughts are … are incomprehensible ramblings to which no one should be subjected.”

“Correct,” Lord Priest said, and he smiled. To a stranger, it might have appeared kind. “Remember, Svlad, that you are what you are. I’ll always keep you safe in here. Outside, they laugh at boys who cry and shake at loud noises. They would do far worse than mock you if they saw how you rambled. You’re too sensitive to be allowed out amongst the other boys.”

Dirk was twenty years old, and knew perfectly well that he was a boy no longer. He also knew that other young men his age did not spend their days toiling in the bowels of their homes, forbidden to speak to anyone outside.

He did not voice these thoughts to Lord Priest.

“Yes, your lordship. Thank you, your lordship.”

“That’s better. Now, breakfast, Svlad.”

Dirk nodded quickly and went to work.

Luckily, it was only a few minutes before Estevez and Zimmerfield came through the back door to the kitchen with fresh eggs and a pail of creamy milk. Unluckily, by that point, Dirk was kneeling and staring intensely at an apple he’d discovered sitting on the corner of the table.

Estevez looked askance at Dirk as he set the pail on the large wooden table in the centre of the room. “Dirk, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Dirk said, absent-mindedly.

“You’re staring at an apple.”

“Right you are, yes! – That’s what I’m doing.”

“Yes, Estevez. He’s staring at an apple. Can’t you see that?” Zimmerfield commented dryly. He had always found Dirk’s way of thinking more endearing than annoying. Or at least, Dirk liked to think he did.

“ _Why_ are you staring at the apple?” Estevez reiterated. Dirk could feel Estevez rolling his eyes, even if he couldn’t see it.

“I just have a feeling,” Dirk explained. “I’m not sure why, but I think this apple is very important.”

“Is it, indeed?”

“Yes, Zimmerfield, I assure you it is.”

“And what about Lord Priest’s breakfast?”

Dirk looked away from the apple at last, wide-eyed. “Oh no.”

“I’ve got it,” Estevez said hastily, putting a pot over the fire. Dirk rushed over and glimpsed several eggs sitting inside before Zimmerfield put a lid over it and shooed him away.

Dirk suddenly felt very grateful for the two of them. Estevez and Zimmerfield had known his mother, having lived at the estate long before Lord Priest arrived. Without them to pick up on his distraction and absent-mindedness, Dirk very likely would face Lord Priest’s wrath with far more regularity than he currently did.

“Have either of you seen Mona today?” Zimmerfield asked, glancing out the window with a frown on his face.

“No, actually. Dirk?”

“No,” Dirk said, slowly shaking his head. “Actually, I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning.”

Zimmerfield hummed, troubled. He glanced at Estevez, the two of them doing their strange talking-with-eyes thing that Dirk was never able to interpret.

Mona was another servant of the estate, a couple of years younger than Dirk, and twice as dreamy and strange as he was. Neither of them made for good servants, but Zimmerfield, with his strong loyalty to the memory of Dirk’s mother, and Estevez, with his sensible and hard-working personality, helped them both pick up the slack. Mona had gone missing once or twice before, but still, only for a few hours at a time – never so long as this.

“I’ll take up Lord Priest’s breakfast,” Dirk offered, pocketing his apple.

“Thank you, Dirk,” Zimmerfield said, distractedly. Then he went back to exchanging silent worried looks with Estevez.

Upstairs, Dirk precariously balanced the tray of eggs and bread in his hands, opening the door to the parlour very carefully. He had never forgotten the time he managed to trip and drop a glass of wine all over the lap of Ken, his stepbrother. Ken had been furious, but that had been nothing compared with Lord Priest’s cold, detached punishment. Dirk still had the scars on his shoulders.

Thankfully all went as planned, and Dirk managed to set down the bread and eggs safely on the table. Hugo, Dirk’s other stepbrother, immediately reached out to tear off a hunk of bread, but stopped at a _look_ from his father.

“Sorry, father,” said Hugo, sheepishly.

“The patriarch must always slice the bread, Hugo,” muttered Ken.

“Quite right you are, Ken,” said Lord Priest.

In silence, Lord Priest cut the bread, carefully measuring each slice with the exactness of a mathematician. Dirk noticed Hugo shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he went around the table, pouring wine for each member of his stepfamily.

“What took you so long, Dirk?”

Though Lord Priest’s voice was calm and quiet, Dirk still winced. It appeared his distraction had not gone unnoticed, despite Estevez’s and Zimmerfield’s intervention.

“I only – I had trouble finding Mona this morning to help with the eggs,” Dirk mumbled.

“Oh, yes,” said Lord Priest, sound faintly surprised. “I completely forgot to mention. I’m afraid dear Mona had to be sold. Missing tapestries, or some such. I can’t recall. She’s quite gone, though.”

Dirk, whose heart had stopped beating upon the word _sold_ , could hardly speak.

“Gone?”

“Mm. To be shipped to the Americas, I should think. Such a shame. She was quite a pretty girl.”

“But always simple,” Ken added.

“That she was.”

Dirk stood in frozen silence for the rest of breakfast, mind whirling a mile a minute. Mona _sold_?

Mona was _not_ simple – she was like Dirk, she only – she needed people to look out for her, because she didn’t always understand social niceties. How could she survive alone?

The interminable breakfast finally ended, and Dirk raced downstairs to tell Estevez and Zimmerfield what had happened. It took him fits and starts to tell the story, completely overcome, but eventually he managed to get out what had been done to Mona.

“Oh, by God,” Zimmerfield whispered.

“He can’t – he _can’t_ –”

“He can, and he has,” Dirk interrupted Estevez’s angry spiral with an anxious one of his own. “And – and I know I always say, _God will provide_ , but this is less than provisional, and I don’t know what to do – we don’t have money enough to buy her back – unless – there’s no chance that either of you is a Spanish prince in disguise, is there? Because I read a story once –”

“No, Dirk.”

“Right, sorry. What do we do?”

“I’m sorry, Dirk. I’ve barely anything saved. Estevez is the same.”

“But we can’t do nothing!”

Zimmerfield stared at Dirk, helplessly shrugging. Dirk stared right back, desperate.

“Well, I – I’m going after her!”

“Dirk, no –”

“Wait –”

But though perhaps Estevez could have stopped Dirk – being rather well-built – he did not. He merely watched Dirk run out the kitchen door and into the fields, as Dirk well saw, glancing back. Dirk felt a little guilty, knowing that Estevez wouldn’t leave Zimmerfield to the running of the estate alone. But not guilty enough to stop running. Not when there might be a chance to save Mona.

Exactly how he was going to save Mona, Dirk was not yet clear on. Usually his plans were not so much plans as a series of impulses he liked to think of as having been inspired by the Divine. Dirk often reasoned with himself that God would surely see them all well. It had been something his mother used to tell him – to believe in the will of God, and be a good boy, and all would be well. Dirk didn’t really know if he was good, but he at least liked to think of himself as quite charming.

Well, quite entertaining, at any rate.

It was just as Dirk was beginning to slow (and breathe rather heavily), that he heard the distant sound of hoofbeats coming up the road behind him. Dirk turned, frowning, towards the sound. His eyes widened as he recognised – not the rider, but the _horse_.

That was his _mother’s_ horse, and as that was most certainly _not_ anyone he knew riding it –

“Oh, no, you _absolutely_ do not,” he muttered, pulling the apple from his pocket and lobbing it with all his strength at the rider.

By some miracle, Dirk’s usually dubious aim found its mark. The apple hit the rider square in the forehead, and he fell to the ground with a shout. The horse immediately slowed, prancing about, nostrils flaring in agitation.

“How dare you!” Dirk cried, marching up to the rider. “Thief!” He felt a little brave doing so, and then a little impressed at his aim for good measure.

The rider flailed, stumbling to his feet, caught up in his cape. And it was a nice cape too, which meant the rider almost certainly could afford a decent horse and had no reason whatsoever to be stealing other people’s horses.

“You will return my mother’s horse this _instant_!” Dirk shouted, stamping his foot.

But at that moment, the rider finally untangled himself from his cloak and turned, out of breath, to face Dirk.

“That’s no way to address your prince,” sulked the prince.

Dirk felt his eyes widen. _Oh no_. He’d just knocked the crown prince of France, Theodore of the house of Brotzman, to the ground. _And_ called him a thief.

… The prince was shorter than Dirk had thought he’d be.

Throwing himself on the ground in prostration, Dirk immediately began to stammer out apologies.

“Your highness – your majesty? My lord – er – I had no idea it was you.”

“It’s just ‘your highness,’” the prince sighed. “And I can see that.”

“You are of course completely free to take the horse. I wish you wouldn’t, obviously, because it’s my horse, but, you know, you’re a prince so that’s that. Are you … still going to take the horse?”

“I thought it was your mother’s horse?”

“Well, it … was. She died,” Dirk said, his usual verbosity stuttering short, as always when the subject of his mother’s death was raised.

“Oh. My condolences,” the prince replied, sounding distinctly awkward. After a pause, during which Dirk snuck a peek up at him, the prince scratched the back of his neck. “I do kinda need the horse, though.”

“Oh. Right.”

“But – I’ll return it later. Um, tell you what …”

Dirk heard a rustling noise, and then the clear sound of metal clinking. A bag dropped by his head, and he jumped.

“For your silence,” the prince explained.

A moment later, he mounted the horse again and immediately continued galloping along the road, as if he’d never been stopped. Dirk didn’t dare look up until the sounds faded, but he pulled the bag close when it did. Opening it, his eyes widened. The bag was full to the brim with gold – enough, _more_ than enough, to buy back Mona.

“Thank you, God,” he whispered, delighted.

And with that, Dirk picked himself up off the road, and raced to find his best friend, Bart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are going to be a little shorter than some of my other fics, due to the multiple POVs.
> 
> Please comment if you enjoyed!


	3. Todd

As far as mornings went, this wasn’t one of Todd’s worst. But it wasn’t really up there amongst the greats either.

He’d woken up at twenty past three that morning from a terrible nightmare, involving a kitten which turned into a terrible beast of the sea and attacked him. As was his usual ritual post-nightmare, he’d gone to check on his younger sister in her rooms. Nobody was allowed in or out of Amanda’s rooms but himself and their parents – there weren’t even any guards posted at the entrance, they had to maintain a distance of two rooms at least, giving her a wide berth. Amanda’s illness precluded interaction with the outside world – even the slightest hint of excitement might cause her to fall into fits of visions. This was something Amanda had never accepted.

Which was why Todd found her room quite empty, and a knotted-together rope of bedsheets trailing from her window.

Todd had stared blankly at the scene, before sighing, turning, and making his way to the stables. He had intended on borrowing a horse to go after Amanda. Again. For the third time that month, in fact. Unfortunately, the stables were surprisingly well-occupied – it seemed that a mare was due to give birth that very night – and so Todd had been forced to sneak out of the castle on foot.

He had made his way along the main road until dawn, at which point he journeyed into the forest, seeking some nearby property to borrow a horse from. He felt a little bad about it, but it would probably help his image as the “irresponsible, free-wheeling, spoiled” crown prince (his father’s words). That was an image he was happy to maintain as long as it kept Amanda safe from the wrath of their parents.

It wasn’t as if he _asked_ to be a prince anyway.

Finally he stumbled upon a clearing, and from there, fields, which led further still to an estate, likely one belonging to a member of court. Todd _really_ didn’t feel guilty about taking a horse after that. Members of court were just headaches waiting to happen.

Only then he’d been hit in the head with an apple by some peasant on the road, been forced to give up the all gold on his person, and he was _still_ no closer to finding Amanda before someone found out she was gone.

 _And_ he was supposed to be meeting his fiancé that day as well, which was just _perfect_. An arranged marriage was the last thing Todd needed just then, especially given the rather intentional beating his reputation had taken at his own hands. Whoever this Princess Farah of Spain was, she was certainly not going to be impressed with Todd.

And to top it all off – Todd was pretty sure that the carriage on the road up ahead of him was being robbed.

He sighed deeply and unsheathed his sword. He might as well do _some_ good. Immediately kicking the horse into a gallop towards the scene, Todd screamed a wordless yell, vaguely hoping to scare the bandits off. At the sight of him, a diminutive man who must have been be their watch raised the alarm with a whoop, scrambling back into the trees. Todd got a brief glimpse at the roughly sewn _3_ on his tunic as the man disappeared into the trees, and groaned internally. The Rowdy Three. _God_ , but he hated that pack of thieves.

The Rowdy Three considered themselves a more modern and rather more stylish take on Robin Hood and his band of merry men. Todd, on the other hand, considered them a band of noisy bastards who made the roads unsafe to travel. Besides which, every time Amanda went missing, Todd worried that she had ended up in their clutches. Their only saving grace was that they typically avoided any interference with the royal guard, who Todd, coincidentally, was dressed as. Of course, Todd wouldn’t pass muster up close, but still, his borrowed tunic and cloak was clearing fooling them from a distance, and they had already begun to retreat.

He reached the carriage, which was still stuck in the middle of the road, just as the remaining Rowdies sprinted into the surrounding forest. Todd was aware that he probably should chase after them. But as always, he was … tired. Yes, that was all. Just tired. It was completely normal for a prince, with all his responsibilities, to be tired. Never mind that the feeling never went away.

The Rowdies whooped and hollered their way into the distance while Todd circled the carriage on horseback. He didn’t bother looking inside just yet. No one would be injured, the Rowdies only ever terrified and stole, leaving well enough alone after that. Finally, the trees fell quiet, and Todd brought the horse to a halt by the door of the carriage. It was an unexpectedly ornate carriage, certainly the property of someone wealthy, with fine wooden carvings decorating every inch.

“Are you all right in there?”

“Yes,” came a male voice, “they’d only just begun to – well, I expect to rob us, but they sure were taking their sweet time about it until you arrived.”

The door opened, and a middle-aged man with a friendly countenance emerged. As he jumped down onto the ground, he shot a thankful smile up at Todd.

“We’re very grateful for your assistance, sir, although I’m sure my girls could have handled things themselves if it had come to that. My name is Sherlock Hobbs – and this is –”

“Tina Tevetino,” said a blonde woman, stumbling to the ground. “Nice to make your acquaintance.” She fiddled with the sword strapped to her side – she wore the same guardsman’s uniform as Hobbes did. Todd recognised the type, though he couldn’t quite place their allegiance. The sigil on their cloaks looked familiar – it was just on the tip of his tongue –

“And _this_ is her majesty, Princess Farah of Spain,” Hobbs added, as a second woman exited the carriage, leaping to the ground with an elegant yet powerful jump.

It was all the more impressive, for the princess wore ten layers of skirts, though she looked incredibly uncomfortable in every one. Todd barely took notice of any of this, though, because he had been struck dumb by the realisation that this – this was _her_. This was his fiancé.

He squinted at her a bit.

But she didn’t disappear. Her skin was smooth and utterly flawless, all shades of the evening. Her eyes were sharp as tacks, glittering in the morning light, and her hair was piled high on her head, and it, too, was flawless. Everything about her was elegant and graceful. Everything about her was … beautiful.

But Todd … Todd was simply too tired for _anything_ anymore. Even women as beautiful as her.

“Your highness,” he said politely, dipping his head.

“Forgive the subterfuge,” Hobbs added, “but we felt it best to travel light, and alone, to attract less attention. Of course, well, that didn’t quite work out, but …”

“Nah, you had it right, boss. We’re all fine, aren’t we?” The blonde woman, Tevetino, elbowed Hobbs encouragingly. He, however, continued to look embarrassed.

“Might I inquire as to the identity of our rescuer?” the princess asked, tilting her head. Her voice was soft and just a little strained, as if she struggled to make it live up to her elegant beauty. Todd wondered how it was possible to come across as so capable and so afraid, all at once.

But there were more important matters at hand, namely, Todd’s identity. _Ugh_. Todd hadn’t thought that far ahead when he left that morning. He still wanted to keep searching for Amanda, but – the princess was going to meet him later anyway, and she would definitely recognise the prince as the guardsman who chased off her attackers. Unfortunately, it appeared that there was only one thing for it.

“I,” he sighed, defeated, “am Theodore, crown prince of France.”

The princess’s eyes widened immediately, and she inclined her head.

“Your highness,” she said, mimicking Todd’s earlier greeting. “I apologise on behalf of myself and my companions. We had no idea to whom we spoke. Forgive our rudeness.”

Todd went to speak, to let her know that it was all well with him, but the princess continued.

“It seems – an inauspicious first meeting, to be sure, but I’m sure – I mean – I’m quite certain – when we reach our destination, we can –”

“I, um,” Todd interrupted, feeling alarmed at seeing the princess spiral so quickly. But he had nothing else to say, and so they stood there in embarrassed silence, until Tevetino had the quick wit to speak for them.

“It’s fine, right, Farah?”

Todd blinked to see a princess so casually addressed by an inferior, but Tevetino looked unphased – as did the princess, who looked towards her guard in badly hidden desperation.

“I guess _his majesty_ can take us to the castle.”

“It’s – your highness, actually,” Todd corrected Tevetino, but she merely glanced at him, making a small _hmph_ of acknowledgement. Todd wondered how he’d already managed to step on her toes in the five minutes of speaking to her. “But I can take you to the castle, yes,” he added, before kicking himself internally. He’d never have time to search for Amanda now.

“Oh, that would be fantastic, I tell you, it really would!” Hobbs grinned.

And so it was that Todd, having intended to do a _good_ deed by rescuing his sister, (and in the process looking very much like he had done a _bad_ deed), in fact redeemed himself with a far _better_ deed: that of the rescue of his future bride.

If only he didn’t feel quite so awful, and if only Amanda would return home, it would have been, all in all, a decent morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression feat. royalty.
> 
> LMK what you thought!!


	4. Amanda

Her royal highness princess Amanda Brotzman of France did not, under any circumstances, plan on admitting that she was in a little over her head. Maybe she had a secret identity as a fearless leader of a band of misfit thieves, and maybe her family would never understand it, and maybe it was getting harder and harder to avoid her brother finding out about it since he got his head on straight, but all of that was being carefully balanced, and there was no need to panic just yet.

It was just that … it had all started out so _simple_.

She’d been so lonely, that was all. She could spend hours in her rooms without seeing a soul, had spent _years_ without seeing an unfamiliar face. Those she did see belonged to her brother or her parents, and they were frequently busy with matters of state. So it was, that isolation became an old friend to her.

Amanda understood that she had a dangerous illness – how could she not? At first, when the royal physician had proclaimed her health to be lost forever, she had despaired, misery infusing the air as she stayed in her rooms, seeing no one, becoming lost in books and stories, longing for her old life. It had been so easy to become a shade, to fade into the shadows and be forgotten. Amanda had allowed it. Every time she had an attack her resolve to hide was strengthened – and encouraged, too, by her parents.

But then she’d seen _them_.

The Rowdy Three. Bandits and outlaws, and utterly, utterly beloved by the people. Beyond the law, beyond the city, beyond it all – they were _free_. Everything Amanda was not.

One day, still high in her tower, Amanda had watched a parade – a procession of colours and shapes and unrestrained, ecstatic life – which was to celebrate the return of Spring. It was an annual celebration, and Amanda watched with envy in her heart for the joy of her people below her. Yet as she watched, a dark cloud penetrated the crowd with whooping and hollering. At first Amanda became alarmed, before she felt her eyes widening – for the group of shouting men who had appeared were throwing _gold_ , glittering in the air, outwards to the people.

Amanda’s people screamed again, but with joy. They cried out in a way they never would for their hidden princess. And Amanda was envious before, jealous of the lives she was meant to safeguard – but now – _now_ she knew she would do something about it.

It took her many days and nights to figure out how to sneak out of her rooms. It was easy enough to come and go _within_ them without encountering a soul. That was all part of the treatment – isolation, avoidance of any tiny, potential upset. But getting _out_ of her rooms was quite different. The guards posted around them might in theory have been there to keep threats out, but Amanda knew very well that they would certainly keep her in too.

After many weeks of study, she worked out the shift changes of all her guards. She listened carefully to their conversations from behind her locked door, getting to know them as she never had before. It almost made her feel guilty, to betray their trust so, now that she knew how they whispered genuine concern for her, how they told bawdy jokes, how they looked forward to coming home and seeing their wives and children – but, her guilt faded to naught in the blinding light of her hope that one day she would be free of her rooms. In the end, it was easy to distract them long enough to slip out, unseen, dressed in her warmest winter cloak and her single pair of sturdy boots, worn for the very first time.

When the cold air hit her face from the side passage leading down her tower and out into the night, Amanda nearly faltered. Her courage flagged. Her heart stuttered. And for a moment, she feared an attack was upon her. But then, she drew a deep breath of air – air tinged with smoke, and spices, and earth, good and bad smells all mixed together into something Amanda wanted desperately to _know_ – and she stepped out.

The city was quiet at night. At least, it was nearer to the castle. It was only when Amanda began to push further into the side streets and lanes of her city that she began to see signs of life – a drunken pair of men, singing rude songs on their way home; a group of young women giggling and falling over one another, and plenty of shadowy figures hurrying to their destinations, looking worried. Amanda supposed that she fit into the last category.

The dusty ground beneath her feet was trodden flat, but there were holes and hollows everywhere that she was learning quickly to avoid. Still, the time eventually came for her to miss one – and she fell with a small yelp, right into the arms of a stranger.

“Careful!” The voice was chipper, and the solid form Amanda had stumbled into bounced back, keeping a hand on her arm, holding her steady.

Amanda blinked as she found her feet, and found herself looking at a young man about her age – a boy, really – with flowers knotted into his hair contrasting with his dark clothing. He smiled at her, and his eyes danced with excitement.

“My apologies,” Amanda mumbled, feeling foolish.

“Vogel here just didn’t see where he was going.” A figure stepped out from the laneway beside them. This man was older, and glared at the two of them through a black ring that surrounded his right eye.

Another voice came from the shadows. “Yes, Vogel! I do _not_ like it when we bump people!” This voice belonged to someone about the size of the one with the eye-tattoo, but who wore bright green paint on his fingernails. He stepped out as well, though he wasn’t frowning, looking more curiously confused.

“Now let’s not scare her,” said a fourth and, Amanda hoped, final voice. This figure remained in the shadows as he spoke. “She’s probably never encountered the infamous and unknowable Rowdy Three before.”

Amanda’s eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to speak. She’d gone out looking – and yet they were _here_ –

“Well of course she hasn’t,” hissed the one with green fingernails.

“She looks noble,” muttered the one with the eye tattoo.

“You got it Cross! Oh, we hate nobility! Right?” The one named Vogel looked anxiously to their leader, still half-hidden in the laneway.

Amanda peered into the darkness, but there was no need, for the man stepped forward in the next moment. He was a tall man, with wild hair and squinting eyes, and some kind of weapon – a baton, Amanda saw as she looked closer – at his side. He looked, in a word, dangerous.

“I’m not noble,” Amanda blurted out, thinking quickly. “I’m – I stole these clothes from my mistress. The princess in the tower. She won’t miss them, she never leaves.”

The man from the shadows hummed. Amanda held her breath.

“Ah, well … we don’t scare regular folk, do we?” His voice was low, and considering.

“No way, boss!”

“We seize the means of production!”

“And smash ’em with hammers!”

“But not tonight,” the leader interrupted, before the others could get too excited. He turned his gaze back upon Amanda. “What’s your name, handmaiden-to-the-princess?”

Amanda’s tongue stuck in her mouth as she scrambled to think of one. “… Esther,” she said eventually, unable to think of anything better than her maiden aunt’s name.

“Esther,” said the leader thoughtfully. “Esther the handmaiden. I’m Martin. This is Cross and Gripps –” here he gestured to the man with the eye tattoo and the man with the green nails in quick succession – “and this is Vogel.” The youngest one, Vogel, bowed.

Amanda unthinkingly curtsied back, and the Rowdy Three laughed. For a moment she thought they were making fun of her – but then she saw the kindness in Vogel’s eyes, kindness like someone who’d known the very best of the stuff.

“Well, we’ve got no plans for the rest of the night – what’s say, Esther, we run off into the woods and scare some rabbits?”

The four of them looked at her expectantly, none moreso than Martin, the leader. He watched her with eyes that glittered like the gold he’d thrown into the crowds at the parade, all those weeks ago. In his stare, Amanda saw – _what_ , she could not say. But she knew she wanted more.

“That sounds like quite the night to me,” she said, with far more confidence than she felt. But by their answering cheer, she knew she’d made the right decision to join the Rowdy Three them in their revelling.

As it turned out, of course, she ended up joining them for far more than a single night. Scare rabbits that _particular_ night they did, though, and plenty more besides –  emptying the woods of bandits like themselves with little more than shouting and screaming obscenities into the darkness. With the wind in her hair and flight upon her heels, she had never felt so alive –

Until the attack came upon her.

It felled her in a single stroke, a sudden pain striking with breathtaking clarity around her ankle. She looked down, and a strangled cry left her throat as she saw a bear trap enclosed around her foot. The others were far away, too far to hear her cries of agony as she lay, helpless, upon the ground.

Or so she thought. Out of the darkness, Martin’s face came into the haze of her vision like a bloom, and Amanda let out a whimper, ashamed of her own weakness. He sat beside her in the impenetrable darkness, reached out, and took her hand.

And the pain –

The pain emptied away. Like water draining through a pipe, the pain left her, drawn, seemingly, into him. The bear trap faded from her vision, and she was left lying in the leaves and the dirt, breathless.

“What did you do?” she asked, when her voice returned.

“Nothing the others aren’t capable of too,” he said gruffly. “It’s all connected. Knew you’d be important. How the world works. We’ll keep you safe.”

Terror flooded her heart at the thought of the others knowing, and she gripped his hand tightly as she struggled to sit up. “You can’t tell them – please, no one can know,” she pleaded, not knowing if it was because he might have guessed her true identity or because she simply couldn’t bear to have this side of her life be touched by her illness too.

Martin turned his head towards her slowly, with a warning light flickering in his eyes. “We don’t keep secrets from each other in the Rowdies,” he said softly. “That’s not in our code.”

Amanda pressed her other hand to his. “Please,” she whispered. “No one can know. Not yet. I’ll tell them, I will, just – when I’m ready.”

Martin sat silent in the forest with her for so long that Amanda felt sure she’d lost her chance, that she’d never be one of them. At last, he let go of her hand, and her heart sank.

But then he spoke. “When you’re ready,” he said, rising to his feet.

And that had been the beginning of it all.

Two years of running wild in the woods, and two years of hiding from her family, avoiding her brother’s attempts to look for her until she was ready to be found, and two years of brilliantly bright, unrestrained _freedom_. She didn’t know how she’d lived without it for so long. How she had managed, wasting endless days as the spectre of her own misery. It had all been too much to see beyond, before the Rowdies.

And yet, her freedom had come at a cost. For that confidence, that _recklessness_ was how she had become so foolish as to run perilously close to her own brother – who, for some reason, was disguised as a palace guard – right there, out in the open.

The second she saw him riding up from her scouting position away from the carriage, she knew they were caught, and she called off the robbery in an instant. The others followed her orders unthinkingly, never questioning her. It made her feel – guilty, of course, for lying to them for so long. But Martin had kept her around thus far, so perhaps she could still be forgiven when she eventually told the truth.

_Or_ , she thought, catching Martin’s troubled eye on their way deep into the woods, _perhaps not_.

“We could have taken him on,” Martin said under his breath, just low enough that the others couldn’t hear. “One palace guard’s nothing. Were there others coming?”

And what he meant by that was, _tell me why you called it off, I know there weren’t_.

“Might have been,” Amanda muttered, sidestepping his implication. “Can’t be sure with palace scum.” The disgust dripped from her voice with ease.

The corner of Martin’s mouth twitched. “That so, _handmaiden_?”

“That’s different,” Amanda frowned. “You know it’s different. I have to look out for my brother.”

And that was not a lie. She did need to look out for Todd – but not, as she’d told the Rowdy Three when they questioned why she wouldn’t join them full time, because he was poor and sick and needed her honest wages. Rather, he needed her because if she left, the burden of ruling their kingdom would fall to him alone, and she couldn’t bear to force that upon him.

“Yes,” Martin said quietly. “Your brother. Lucky to have a sister as loyal as you.”

He smiled, but there was an edge to it. Amanda wondered, not for the first time, if he knew the truth. If he did, he’d never said. Not even on that first night he saw her fall and kept it from the others, going against their very code. No lies between them, that was what bound the Rowdies together. And there Amanda was, denying them the most important truth of all.

She kept walking into the woods, Martin a silent presence at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took a long hiatus from this fic to work out some kinks and spend a little more time with the characters in their usual setting, and it helped, so here's to getting this fic finished and finished well! Please comment if you enjoyed!


	5. Dirk

Dirk was sure he that could complete the task he’d set himself.

Dirk could _definitely_ do it. At least, he thought he could do it. Probably. With a little luck, and God on his side, and the best of his charms, he could … approximate something like completing the task of retrieving Mona.

He was making his way up to the castle gates dressed as the nobleman he most certainly wasn’t, while Bart kept watch about half a mile back in case any of his family decided to make a visit to court today, and he continued to tell himself that he was quite confident that all was going according to plan. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Find Mona, pay off whoever needed to be paid off with the bag of gold the prince had given him, and get the hell out of dodge before anyone spotted him. They would not, of course, because Bart was keeping watch. Once Bart Curlish had decided to make herself an obstacle, there was no passing her. Dirk knew that from experience – a childhood full of mud up his nose was testament to that.

Still, Dirk cannot help but reflect, as he eyed up the intimidating castle gates, this was a big one. Dirk had never actually attempted to _scam_ anybody before, let alone pass himself off as a nobleman. He tugged uncomfortably at the high collar of his jacket, which he had regrettably already asked Bart about. She _had_ stolen it, she’d proudly told him, holding up several other items of richly decorated clothing. Dirk was trying not to think about that as he finally reached the castle gates.

Nobody looked twice at him as he entered the town, the eyes of the guards posted on either side sliding right over him as they took in his expensive-looking clothing. That was for the best – Dirk couldn’t trust his own face not to give him away, expressive as it tended to be at the worst of times.

Once through and in the street, Dirk stopped suddenly, realising he had no idea where to go next. He tried stopping a passer-by to ask, but she took one look at his jacket, raised her eyebrows, and walked away with her nose held high.

Well, that was quite the look of disdain for someone wearing a collar like _that_ , Dirk thought. It practically knocked her head off.

He wandered aimlessly for the next – however-long, Dirk was never any good at measuring time – through endless streets of mud and dirt and very noisy merchants. Eventually, he made his way further inwards, until he stumbled upon discreet gateway leading to an alley just outside the walls of the castle itself. There he discovered a series of standing cages sitting on carts, though they appeared to be empty. Evidently they were meant to hold criminals and thugs and all kinds of –

“Hello, Dirk!”

Dirk felt his eyes widen as he whirled around to see Mona sitting cheerily in the back of one of the carts, wrists chained together as if she was some kind of dangerous criminal.

“Mona!” Dirk gasped, hurrying towards her. He grabbed the bars of her cell as if he could simply pull them apart at will. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Who did this? Wait, no, his lordship did, never mind. Are your wrists hurt? Have they fed you? Do you –”

“I knew you’d come,” Mona whispered calmly, leaning in close like it was a secret.

And perhaps it was, because Dirk felt the back of his throat growing heavy, thinking how close he’d come to losing her without ever even saying goodbye. Just like his mother.

“Hey!” An angry voice interrupted their reunion. “Away from her! That’s my property!”

Dirk turned towards the voice, only to see a very cross-looking man dressed in the clothes of a merchant stomping towards him.

Dirk resisted the urge to gulp loudly. Well, it was now or never.

“I say,” he said casually, “you wouldn’t be willing to sell her to me, would you? I can pay – I have gold.”

The man abruptly came to a halt, narrowing his eyes. He snorted. “I doubt it.” There was a pause. “How much?”

Oh, bugger. Dirk hadn’t counted. He lifted the bag of gold from inside his jacket. “It’s filled with gold. More than enough, I should think.”

The man eyed the bag, before making a dismissive noise. “I’m not falling for _that_ one again, boy.”

Dirk flinched at the name, but persisted. “I swear it. Please – I – she’s my …” Not sister, he couldn’t say sister. “A servant girl, much beloved by my mother.”

The man stepped forward, right into Dirk’s personal space, and poked him in the chest. Bells began to ring in Dirk’s mind, a clanging and clashing sound that upset his ability to speak.

“Now listen here,” snarled the man. “This girl is my property. To do with as I wish. And _you_ are no more than an upstart, overeducated, flowery-looking –”

“Excuse me,” interrupted yet another voice – this one sounding flat and unimpressed.

Both Dirk and the man swivelled their heads to see who had spoken. When Dirk saw who it was –

Well, he wasn’t sure how to react to seeing the prince for the second time that day, but probably gasping out “Oh, it’s _you_!” was not the best way to go about it.

The prince gave him an odd look, and Dirk bowed his head, abruptly silenced.

He took a moment to catalogue the fact that the prince had arrived with a retinue – in fact, he appeared to be escorting a carriage, though the prince himself was on horseback. How odd. Dirk had always thought that horses were for guards and carriages were for princes. Lord Priest was always emphasising how lacking Dirk was in common sense – perhaps this was one of those areas of deficiency. In any case, it was odd that the prince and his retinue were taking a back alley into the castle, but what did Dirk know?

“What, exactly,” the prince said, sounding tired, “is going on here?”

“This boy was trying to steal my girl!”

The gruff merchant interrupted Dirk before he’d even had the chance to speak.

Dirk gaped at his audacity. “I most certainly was not!” He turned to the prince, offended. “I offered him gold for her, fair and square! And I only did it because this girl – Mona – she was the beloved servant of my mother, and was wrongfully sold to pay off debts that are not her own!”

“And I’m to take it that this is your word against this merchant’s?” The prince sighed, squinting at him, as if trying to decide whether Dirk was worth his time. “Of course, what else could possibly go wrong this morning …”

It was at that moment that Dirk realised two things –

_One_ , that the prince by all rights _ought_ to have remembered Dirk from that very morning.

_Two_ , that the prince did _not_ remember Dirk, at all.

To the prince, a lowly servant such as Dirk was invisible. Worth less than a horse to ride away on. And as Dirk watched the prince, obviously trying to decide who he believed in this unexpected conflict, utterly disregarding Mona herself, only concerned with the two men before him –

Dirk began to feel, for the first time, truly _angry_.

“Your highness,” he said, coolly. “I believe that your arrival here is – serendipitous. But, if I may – my own was far more so.”

The prince’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Evidently nobody had ever claimed to be more important than him in his actual presence before.

_That_ would show him.

“You see – I am a great believer in the holistic interconnectedness of all things,” Dirk continued. “I believe that God is in everything – every chance encounter, every choice we make, every last ongoing conflict, and doubt, and incident of suffering. I think that my coming here today was far more fortuitous for Mona than yours.”

The prince cocked his head, a strange expression on his face. “Go on.”

Dirk swallowed. He hadn’t actually been expecting the prince to _listen_ to him. “Well, you see – if I hadn’t come for her at this exact moment, then I’d never have had any chance at freeing her. I can’t break through these bars and I have no key to unlock her chains. And yet – I found her just when I was meant to.”

“How is that, exactly?” The prince sounded more than a little skeptical. “As I see it, you’re being accosted by the girl’s rightful owner, who as I take it, has no interest in your gold.”

“Ah, but that’s just it!” Dirk held up a finger, pointing triumphantly. “If I had not begun arguing with Mona’s … _master_ , then you never would have noticed us in this alleyway. And if you had never noticed us in this alleyway, then I’d never have had a shot at releasing her. You see – the only person with any authority in the kingdom to redistribute property at will, including that of indentured servants, is one who is in line to the throne.”

The prince frowned. “That would still make me the more important party, according to your theory. How can you hope to free her without me?”

Dirk shook his head. “Not at all. If _I_ had not been the one to come here at this _exact_ moment, with this _exact_ merchant, picking this _exact_ argument – then _you_ never would have known to stop at all. Without me, your highness, your ignorance of this situation would have been total and complete, _and_ , if you’ll forgive me for speaking candidly – you would have been no use at all to poor Mona.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as the prince took in Dirk’s words. Dirk experienced a sudden and terrifying cataclysm of regret, as he often did after speaking too quickly for his mind to keep up with.

The prince opened and shut his mouth, still speechless. And then, from within the carriage, to the shock of all present – applause. Two hands appeared from within the carriage, clapping furiously.

“Wooh! Go stranger!” A head peeked out to follow the hands – it was a blonde woman with braids in her hair, grinning from ear to ear. “He really got you there, your royalness!”

The prince pursed his lips.

But, if Dirk was being generous – he thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile in the expression. Certainly as the prince turned back to Dirk, there was something in his eyes, something interested.

“May I ask for your name?” The prince asked.

Dirk froze, thinking quickly. “My name – my name is … Count Dirk Gently, your royal highness,” he said, doing a sort-of bow which levelled out into an odd curtsy.

“Well, Count Dirk Gently. I think – I think, despite everything, you might have it. You said the count offered you money?” This last was directed at the merchant, who Dirk had somehow managed to forget.

“Yes,” the man admitted, annoyed.

“Then take it. I wouldn’t advise arguing with this man any longer. You’ll certainly lose.”

The man looked as if someone had given him a lemon to suck on, but begrudgingly, he nodded. He produced a ring of keys from beneath his voluminous overcoat, and unlocked first the cage, then Mona’s shackles. As soon as it was done, Mona leapt into Dirk’s arms, silent as she’d been during the entire exchange. Her eyes, shining brightly, spoke for her. The merchant muttered something ugly under his breath.

Dirk turned back to the prince, still bubbling over with the joy of having Mona back. “I thank you, your highness.”

“You’re – uh, you’re welcome,” said the prince, looking bemused.

“And I’m afraid we must be going now,” Dirk explained, silently adding _before his lordship realises what I’ve done_ to the end of the sentence. “Lovely meeting – er, all of you,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the blonde woman in the carriage and the merchant.

With that, he turned on his heel, took Mona’s hand, and began to walk away.

“Wait – wait!” There were suddenly footsteps pounding towards him, and Dirk turned, blinking, to see that the prince had actually gotten off his horse and was chasing after him. That was … odd.

“How will I – will I see – I mean,” the prince paused, and Dirk noticed a flush to his cheeks. Probably from the sudden sprint towards Dirk and Mona. “You said your name was Dirk Gently?”

“ _Count_ Dirk Gently,” Dirk explained. A title would make him even more difficult to find.

“Well,” the prince said softly. “I … It was – good to meet you as well, Count Dirk Gently. Maybe – maybe we’ll meet again at court.”

“Maybe,” Dirk squeaked, squirming in the lie he’d made for himself. “Erm, anyway. We’d best be going now, so – toodle-oo!”

He tugged on Mona’s hand. She hesitated, waving dreamily at the prince before skipping along to go with Dirk back home.

Dirk didn’t dare look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I've given up trying to keep a schedule on this fic lmao, but if you're still enjoying, let me know <3

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


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